


I Found You Irreversible

by reddottedpaper



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Character Study, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Inner Dialogue, M/M, Mild Smut, Points of View, Prostitution, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Self-Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddottedpaper/pseuds/reddottedpaper
Summary: This story follows Joe and Nicky on their travels two years after they stopped killing each other. They wander into a tavern in Constantinople where Yusuf misreads the situation terribly, and both of them are faced with a situation that puts them to a test they may not be ready for.Each chapter is from Joe's and Nicky's point of view.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 161





	1. Part One (Yusuf)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I too, have fallen victim to the amazing story of The Old Guard and have done nothing productive for the last few weeks other than scroll the Old Guard tag on tumblr. I ache to write.
> 
> Let me know all of your feedback and criticism! I would love to get better.

He doesn’t remember the exact number of times he had killed the man before him, or the number of times his companion had killed him. When he touches his own skin in search of scars he knows he bears no signs of them. And yet they happened. The sword driven through his heart, the dagger cutting his jugular, the arrows penetrating his back and shattering his spine into pieces. The faint memory of lying on the cold ground, surrounded by innocent bodies and murderous weapons, watching a pool of his own blood soak into his skin and hair, embraces him like his mother used to do. Offering warmth and comfort in knowing that he did die that day. He died and perhaps all of this was just a fever dream accompanying him to the other side. 

But that night on the battlefield, his lungs breathed in air once more and his fingers, again, dug into the wet soil. He rose to his feet, believing it a miracle that his enemy didn’t take his life away, that he was chosen to be standing while his enemy laid dead at his feet. But his enemy stood up just like he did. Weak in his knees, dragging his bloodied sword up like a child who lacked the strength to lift it. He was crazed in the eyes, no skin showed underneath a mask of blood looking at Yusuf from under long matted hair and beard. In that moment, Yusuf believed him to be a devil and reeled up his sword to strike the devil dead for good. His rounded blade slid through the enemy’s chest as if he was cutting bread, smoothly sliding along his bones until the tip ripped his clothes at the back and Yusuf drove the blade even deeper, grabbing the devil’s shoulder.

“Die,” Yusuf whispered, chanting breathlessly. He didn’t realize he was crying until he saw his tears wetting the man’s tunic. It was then, with his enemy’s dying growls and vomits of blood that he felt his dagger stab into his thigh. The wetness that trickled down his leg made his clothes stick to his skin and he felt his strength waver. With the dead weight of the devil upon his arms, Yusuf’s knees gave out and they dropped back into the field, being welcomed by its embrace once more.

They killed each other many times, that night and the next nights. It wasn’t until almost a decade later, that they crossed paths and none of them suffered for it. They rarely spoke the few common words they knew of each other’s languages. Quickly, they found out that words are not needed among them. When you’ve killed a man enough times, when your blood has mixed with his, perhaps a bit of your souls bled into each other as well. At least that’s how Yusuf reasoned with it. There was a bond between them that Yusuf swore he could feel, sense, see, everything but touch. A bond so strong it was futile to try and fight against it. And he didn’t want to fight against it, anyway. He felt safe with the other man. Nicolo. His name was Nicolo. That’s the first word he said to Yusuf.

The more time he spent with the western man, the less he believed him to be a devil. Nicolo had slit his throat, stabbed him, bludgeoned him, choked him to death and cut off his limbs more times than he could count. And yet Yusuf trusted this man. At first, it was only the certainty that the man wouldn't stay dead. Then it was the certainty that he would die by the man’s hand. And now, it was the certainty he would watch over him while he slept and protect their horses when they were attacked. The devil himself shed blood and tears to fight alongside Yusuf. How could this man be a devil, then? He couldn’t be.

His hair was no longer matted with blood every time they saw each other. He kept it clean, tucked behind his ears. The long beard he sported on the battlefield was no longer braided with mud and the man’s face wore no red mask anymore. His skin was burnt from the hot Turkish sun but it was still lighter than Yusuf’s. And in contrast to his dark locks, his eyes were the brightest light Yusuf has ever seen. He found himself lost in the sea of Nicolo’s eyes more often than not, wondering whether they reflect the sea that washed the shores of his companion’s homeland, far away from here.

They’ve been travelling the east together for two years, bumping from village to village, sometimes wandering big cities. The Holy War chewed them up and spit them back. Alone in the world, with no army to serve, no purpose to their lives. Yusuf observed how Nicolo prayed to his God before every meal and before going to sleep. And Nicolo observed how Yusuf bowed to his God every day. None of them knew why the other one was praying, or to whom, but they respected each other.  _ What for is hatred in this eternal life we have been cursed with? What for is hatred at all? _

Yusuf wrote in a journal, drew sceneries they had seen and faces they encountered. One night, when they sat at a fire, Nicolo took his journal with a silent question for permission and Yusuf gave it with a nod. His calloused fingers turned pages filled with faces of smiling children, portraits of merchants and villagers they had seen, smudged texts written in lines he was yet to understand. Yusuf was watching the fire, hoping the heat in his cheeks was from the flames and not the excitement he felt when Nicolo watched his work. Shyly, in the corner of his eyes, he observed his companion smiling at the yellowed pages. Weak tug of lips here, little smile there. Nicolo halted when he found a double page filled with his face, the silhouette of his figure, the detail of his eyes and his lips. He turned the journal around to show Yusuf and pointed at himself with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

The heat that entered Yusuf’s skin was comparable to a lighting strike. He remembered drawing those lines, dragging the charcoal across the page as he would his finger across Nicolo’s lips. He felt ashamed for thinking that way, for drawing that way. But seeing the excited face of his model, no hatred in his eyes - no confusion, Yusuf smiled, confident in his work and the beauty behind it. He nodded. It’s you, Nicolo. And Nicolo smiled wide. He tapped his nose and said “Big,” while turning his head to mimic the profile drawn on one of the pages. Yusuf laughed, wrinkles dancing around his eyes. They shared a chuckle both of them registered as a flutter of hearts. None of them admitted it to themselves that night.

And now, after days of travel through the desert, they’ve arrived in Constantinople. Nicolo doesn’t speak the language well enough so he stays outside with the horses while Yusuf goes into a tavern to get them lodging for the night. The room is filled with drunk and easy men and women, he has to dodge a flying tankard before he reaches the bar.

“Two rooms with a hot bath,” he orders with a smile as he tosses a pouch full of coins on the counter.

The rough woman behind it eyes Yusuf and raises an eyebrow. “Can’t fit yourself in one room?”

“I got a friend outside,” he beckons towards the front door, open into the night, welcoming travellers.

His answer charms a smile on the keeper’s face. She takes the pouch and tosses it in her hand. “That much coin gets each of you a bed and a hot bath. But a few more and,” she gives him a sly grin and Yusuf gets wary, “I throw in a warm body to keep you company. Aren’t you tired after your travels? There’s no rest like between a woman's legs. My girls are clean and fun.”

His first thought is to dismiss it. They came here just to rest. But they are travelling together, him and Nicolo. Perhaps a woman is what Nicolo would welcome after their long travels. Maybe it’s what he would welcome, as well. His thoughts wander into the nights when he and Nicolo slept side by side, back to back. Wary of intruders, that’s the reason why they slept like that. Not because the physical contact felt like a fire rose blooming within his chest. He thinks of the line of Nicolo’s cupid bow, the way his eyes bore a hole into his heart everytime he looks at him. Yusuf shakes his head. That’s not… right. A woman in his bed would perhaps help. Yeah, he’s just stressed out and tired after the travels. Maybe a release is what they both need.

His face turns into a scorn as he lies out another few coins on the counter. As if he’s unhappy that the woman has swayed him. She gathers them up in a scoop and gives him a wink.

“Get your horses in the stable. I’ll ready your rooms,” she sings. Yusuf just turns around and walks outside, his heart suddenly heavy with doubts. Did he make a mistake? 

Outside, Nicolo lifts his chin up as a greeting, asking whether they have where to rest their heads tonight. Yusuf gives him a weak smile and takes his horse, showing them towards the stable. When they walk up the stairs to their rooms, Yusuf’s steps are heavier than he’s used to. He tries to think about the girls back in his town, about the way their smiles made him feel happy but never content. He feels guilty for feeling content with Nicolo. 

They stop at their rooms and Nicolo raises his palm to pat Yusuf’s shoulder. With a mutual nod, they separate and enter the rooms.

Yusuf sees the bed in the corner and the wooden bath filled with steaming water and feels miserable. With a sigh, he strips, takes off his rings and sinks into the water. He washes his hair and beard, making sure no more sand would be scratching him behind his ears or under his nails. He thinks of Nicolo. He always thinks of Nicolo. How he bathed in a lake half a year ago, how he lured his horse into the water with him and calmed the animal with kisses and clicks of his tongue when the splashing water scared it. Yusuf watched then and fell in love. And Yusuf watched Nicolo many times after and the result was always the same. 

His thoughts get cut off like a strand of hair when he hears a knock on the door. He stays silent, as if the girl would go away if he pretended he wasn’t here. She knocks again. 

“Come in,” Yusuf says and holds a hand at his mouth, hiding the pitiful scowl he means for himself.

Inside comes a beautiful girl with auburn hair, half dressed in a colorful robe and nothing else. She smiles at him and Yusuf hates how little it makes him feel. He smiles back at her, no matter how fake. He feels as if he failed himself, Nicolo, and even the girl before him. She comes to him and guides him up to his feet, taking a towel and drying him gently off. Her gentle hands make sure she lingers at his strong arms, thighs, his stomach and groin. Impatient, Yusuf stops her. He steps out of the bath and guides her hands away from him. He knows what he should do, but he lingers. She pushes him towards the bed and caresses his face, his shoulders. Her hands wander down his chest to his stomach, feeling every crease and tense muscle. When her lips touch his skin near his collarbone, he winces as if he had been burnt.

“Is something wrong?” she asks way too kindly. “Is this not how you like it? Should I do something different?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks into her young, kind eyes. He smiles warmly.

“Maybe I’m just too tired,” he lies. His hand fleetly touches her shoulder and he guides them both to their feet. “I’m sorry. Keep the money. Some other night maybe.” Perhaps way too fast, he leads her to the door, grabbing the towel on the way and wrapping it around himself. The girl, confused, turns around between the door and ever so gracefully giggles to save her face before the patrons on the hallway.

“Next night then,” she smiles and caresses his beard, pulling him in for a rough, long kiss. Yusuf stays still as she kisses him and barely opens his eyes to see her disappearing behind a corner. He feels nothing, still. Only a crack in his heart when he registers Nicolo, standing in his door across from him. He looks disgusted, he’s sure, watching him kiss goodbye a whore. Nicolo looks away in what seems a shock, and quickly closes the door from his room.

Yusuf just stands there, staring at the doors. Was he wrong? Did he make a mistake? What if Nicolo did feel the same about him?  _ What have I done? For what is pain to a heart that has been broken by its keeper’s fault. I feel not alive. I feel dead ‘thou I’m walking this earth, as long as I’m not walking by your side. _

He scribbles the last words and then smears them across the page in a futile attempt to wipe away the tears.


	2. Part One (Nicolo)

My God has given me this strength, Nicolo thought, this strength to kill all heretics, to free the Holy Land. God has given me the right! To fight you! To kill you! There is no other way. Our people have to be free of you. I am sorry. I will ask God for forgiveness for your deaths, for the blood my sword has shed. I will ask God for forgiveness for your sins as well. And God will forgive. To you, to me, to all of us. God will forgive me for your death. God will welcome me with open arms when I die. I do not fear death. For I am devoted to his light and his light will not keep me in darkness.

Nicolo thought it was all a lie when he woke on the battlefield that night. He saw the man who killed him rise before him and he felt nothing but fear. No golden gate welcoming him on his journey to heaven. No God embracing him in light. All Nicolo saw was blood and darkness and the stench of iron and piss and shit and the cold sting of a blade stabbing clean through him. His killer embraced him and whispered him words he didn’t understand but was sure were filthy and vile. Nothing but anger burst inside of him and with his last breath, he stabbed his enemy. Over and over until they both fell back on the ground and died once more.

He was more than lost in his faith, he was betrayed. It took so many deaths for Nicolo to find his way out of the labyrinth of his mind. He was angry, sad, confused and scared. He killed the man before him and was killed in return, over and over until he lost count. And what for? At some point Nicolo doubted that God ever existed. It was all he ever knew for so long, yet God abandoned him when he needed him the most. When he was dying. For years, he wished nothing else than to die, to be with his men of sword and faith, with his family. Then he wished for nothing but to kill the devil who kept coming back. To kill him, that must be my purpose. God has given me this gift of life to kill the devil. To stand victorious above his corpse.

But when the devil offered him water, when the devil fought off attackers to protect him, Nicolo changed his mind. Was he bad for fighting side by side with the heretic? If so, why doesn’t God talk to him? He no longer saw sense in pursuing others for different thinking. He found serenity where before was anger. This man, Yusuf. He was no closer to being devil than Nicolo himself. He was not just a ruthless warrior, he was a man of talent and beauty. Nicolo could spend hours sitting next to him and watching his companion draw or write on pages and into sand. He wrote in a script Nicolo couldn’t understand, but he was charmed by the skill of his words nonetheless. When he heard him speak, his stomach sank like a child’s when they hear their favourite fairy tale before bed. Yet, they didn’t need language between them. Their deaths and lives were intertwined like branches of a willow and Nicolo found safety and certainty in their companionship. He could not sleep unless Yusuf was close.

Nicolo was wrong this whole time. God didn’t abandon him, nor did he give him a holy mission to kill the devil. God had given him a gift of eternal life to love. To learn and seek others and their ways and to not judge them, but accept them and enjoy the beauty of them. Nicolo felt more alive every day he was with Yusuf. They travelled the east and Nicolo walked a soil he would never dream off back in his land. He heard tongues that sounded like songs and met people kind and furious and foregin and familiar. Nicolo now saw that the Holy War lacked in sense, that all the deaths and sufferings were for nothing. And he felt great shame in his actions, in the followers of his faith. He was now sure that Yusuf was a blessing, not a curse. He was sure they belonged together. Why exactly, he was yet to determine.

But he still caught himself doubting. He didn’t consider it a bad thing, he had learned that doubts were the key to the truth. But what was the truth? If God clearly said not to lie with another man, yet Nicolo’s thoughts wandered over Yusuf’s body like stray dogs looking for shelter before rain. Was he a bad Christian for thinking that way? Surely. The rough leather of his horse’s bridle struck his back once, twice. His toes curled under his feet and his hands gripped into fists until his nails drew blood. He shouldn’t think this way. His heart should not forget how to beat whenever his companion looks into his eyes. The way Yusuf’s hands smudge the charcoal in his journal should not send shivers down Nicolo’s skin. He’d close his eyes whenever he heard the pages shuffle against one another, and he’d imagine their hands touching, their skin grazing one another. 

When all of his injuries healed, Nicolo realized there was no point to them. He felt the pain, but it didn’t bring him any closure. He didn’t feel deserving of pain for admiring a man. His full heart was content within Yusuf’s reach. He was ultimately lost in a maze he knew no way out of. The bridle dropped on the ground and Nicolo dressed. There was no point in denying these feelings. If they were wrong, may whatever come at him struck him down. He felt ready.

The last two years are registered in his mind as good. There was misery and bloodshed, but there were beautiful moments of peace and freedom Nicolo cherishes deeply. He learned to expect Yusuf’s face when he wakes and his back to lean against when they fight. And Nicolo was perfectly happy with his life in his hands. 

He waits for his companion outside the tavern. It looks dirty, like most of the buildings in the shady alleys of the city. But after nothing but sand, any structural building feels like a castle to him. Yusuf comes back and Nicolo notices the way his step is heavier. Without Yusuf offering an explanation, he decided not to pray further, believing fully that were it serious, Yusuf would tell him. 

They reach their rooms and part their ways. Once the door is closed, Nicolo rubs his palm where it touched Yusuf’s shoulder. Every touch they share leaves behind a spot of warmth that unlike their injuries, doesn’t heal for a long time. Nicolo is grateful for that. He gazes upon the bath with hungry eyes and takes off his clothes in a hurry. He kicks off his shoes and sinks to the bottom of the bath, splashing some water outside. A relaxed lazy smile spreads on his face as he feels the dirt peeling off him, soap suds washing all of it away. He washes his hair and face, rubbing the hot water through his beard.

When he washes between his fingers, he remembers Yusuf’s rings. They’re of various sizes and colors and metal, each of them hugging one of his long fingers. Whenever he goes to bathe, he takes them off. Nicolo wondered whether they are gifts from family or lovers. His heart aches. Did Yusuf have lovers? Despite the cloud upon his mind, he can hardly think of someone, or something, more beautiful than Yusuf. His dark eyes feel like lying onto a bed of warm silk and his smile lights up the day like the sun. He’s strong, brave and kind. Nicolo smiles as he remembers Yusuf playing with kids on the mud streets of a village about a year ago. So full of life, so passionate. They loved him. Nicolo loved him. The way his chest rises when he laughs or how rough his fingers are when he’s handing him water.

He gets startled as he hears a knock on the door. Who could knock? Only Yusuf. He hastily gets up and dries off, putting on his trousers. He opens the door with his name silent on his lips. But there stands a girl, barely dressed in a colorful robe. Her hair is black, cascading in waves down her chest. She steps in, playing with sweet words he can’t understand as she dances him towards the bed.

“Wait,” Nicolo chokes out, his face beet red, trying to look away from her. But her hands are faster than his eyes, she straddles him, holding his face in her hands. She smiles a pretty smile and Nicolo stares at her with questions in his eyes. He doesn’t know her, didn’t tell her to come. “Who are you?” he asks, catching her hands and slowly pulling them away. His Turkish is not the best but he believes it carried the point across. She looks a bit taken back and then caresses his face with the back of her hand.

“Your friend told me to come. That you might like some company,” she whispers into his ear as she kisses his temples.

He stares at the wall behind her, stilled. His heart had surely dropped to the bottom of his rib cage, hurting, stabbed on one of his ribs. Yusuf? Is this what he likes? He missed sex so he ordered them both a whore? Nicolo stares at her beautiful eyes as he pulls her away from his neck. She’s smiling and her skin is flushed, her heart beating fast inside her chest. He can understand the beauty of women, he always understood. But it didn’t feel right to sleep with her. Did it? God says that man is supposed to be with a woman. Is this her? Is she his Eve? Is the act of love confined to her beautiful form? What about Yusuf? His arms and his chest and his stomach? Nicolo wanted to touch every part of him. And now, faced with a beautiful woman, he felt like a failure for not wanting her. Is this what God wanted for him? For Yusuf to be his friend and for this girl to be his? 

When she kisses him she tastes like soap and smoke from the oil lamps. But her lips are soft and her touch as gentle as silk. Nicolo shyly touches her neck as their mouths meet. She guides his hand lower to her breast, swinging slowly in his lap. His mind escapes him, leaves through the door and down the hall, to Yusuf’s door. If he were to knock on his door, would he answer? Would he kiss him like this girl is right now? Why doesn’t this feel right? This doesn’t feel like Yusuf’s hands would. Or his beard against his cheeks. His laugh trapped between their lips. 

“First time?” the girl asks and wide eyed Nicolo nods. She lies down on the bed filled with hay, her naked form spread on the cold sheets. “Come,” she says and reaches for Nicolo. He looks into her eyes and sees them a window into a world full of colors and music and drinks. And he doesn’t condemn her or pity her. He takes her hand but lifts her up towards him. Lifts her up to their feet. He shyly puts her robe back onto her shoulders.

“No. I’m sorry,” he says in her broken tongue. He gives her a shaky smile and she looks a bit hurt for being rejected. Panicking, Nicolo tries to explain but slips into italian. Apologizing for his behaviour, explaining to her that she’s beautiful but he just doesn’t want to because it doesn’t feel right. She shrugs and says a sentence from which Nicolo fishes out only the word ‘money’, and then she touches his nose and kisses it and leaves through the door.

Nicolo sighs, feeling doomed. He can’t be with women. But he can’t be with Yusuf, either. He sees the girl disappearing down the hall and then looks up and sees him standing in his door. Yusuf. He’s kissing a girl goodnight and she leaves, happy, smiling. Nicolo chokes a bit and when their eyes meet, he can’t bear the light of them and shuts the door.

Now he knows there is no way he could be with Yusuf. Yusuf likes women. Who is he to take that away from him or doubt it? Nicolo lies on the bed and curls into a ball. Feeling more alone than ever. Without the protection of his companion behind him, or his possible love blooming inside his chest.


	3. Part Two (Nicolo)

When the sly morning sun pries into the slits in the window shutters of his room he’s already dressed. A single tug fastens the belt hanging low on his hips and the tip of his sword scratches the floorboards. He’s ready, counting down hours until the burning orb in the sky crawled over the dunes behind the city’s outskirts all night. It seemed a fit deadline to his despair dwelling. Without the warmth of Yusuf’s back shielding his own, sleep seemed a distant memory and a need. An annoyance, such as the last hundred dying breaths Nicolo took, bearing through the pain despite knowing he’d taste the air again. What for were they anyway?

He leaves his room and emerges in the silent hallway. Every step he takes causes a creak that crawls up his spine like a thousand spiders. Searching back in his mind, he doesn’t remember the floor being this silent last night when- He stops himself. He rolls his shoulders and sighs, ducks quickly back into the room to wash his face in the bath of cold, dirty water. 

The sun outside sits on his skin gently like an angel Nicolo saw on frescoes dorning churches. It doesn’t burn his skin just yet, granting the city last few moments of merciful cool before scorching the earth for the rest of the day. Nicolo feels nauseous at the thought of its heat. Only when he locates their horses in the barn he calms.

Big, black eyes stare at him from under the curly wide mane of Yusuf’s Arabian. He calls her Layl, Nicolo remembers, and the feel of her coat prickles his fingertips like tiny daggers would when he pats her neck. 

“The night,” he whispers and brushes her mane away from her face. What a brave, beautiful horse. For the past half a year, she carried Yusuf on her back. Steadfastly carried him through deserts and across rivers and galloped with him through fields in pursuit of safety when they were being followed or attacked. It was a long time ago that Nicolo swore to himself he would protect Yusuf, do whatever it takes to keep him from harm. To keep the only constant in this never dying world intact. Every morning he thanked his God and Yusuf’s God and every other God that may be foreign to him for letting them stand side by side. That’s all he needed. “Thank you,” he kisses into her nose and steps away.

When he sees her huff and kick the hay on the ground, he sees Yusuf standing next to her, tending to her and wetting her lips with the little water he has left poured in his palm. Smiling from ear to ear even when it cracks his burnt skin and blood seeps out, dry within seconds. He never cared for pain when he could smile. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs makes Nicolo’s heart twist itself into a knot.

He used to think he’s immortal for the sole purpose of killing this man. This… man. Nicolo cries when he remembers the prickling in his skin whenever they touch, the glint of light in Yusuf’s eyes when their eyes meet across a fire and his voice - the way Yusuf sings words that are foreign to him but feel like the most intimate whisper into his and only his ears.

Nicolo’s horse Luce steps forward in the stable and nibbles on his shirt, offering a thick shoulder for Nicolo to cry on. Sniffling, he grips onto the horse’s matted mane and puts the reins on together with his saddle. For a moment, he just stands there and pats his ears, watching long eyelashes shielding wise dark eyes.

“How much have you seen? Those long nights and days we travelled.” Nicolo whispers in his tongue, leaning closer to his horse, “When you stand before God, Luce, you’ll be my witness. Tell him I loved a man. I loved Yusuf. Tell him I bear no shame and feel no guilt. Tell him I am eternally grateful.”

In one swift motion he jumps into the saddle, leading his horse out of the big door. And then he is gone. Luce’s hooves kick up dust in clouds as he sprints down the dirt road, taking his rider down the shortest path out of Constantinople.

Foolishly, he thinks that time will help his aching heart and soul but the lonely nights only get longer. The blessing of merciful sleep never comes. For months, he survives on unconscious sleep attacks that engulf him when he rides on horseback during the night. He notices the shakes his hands adapted as their own and wills them away only when he wields his sword. When his path leads him into danger, Nicolo walks into the fire not fearing to be burnt. His blade strikes down bandits attacking a caravana, a group of mercenaries who rampaged a village and raped local women, a murderous thief that massacred a family. And Nicolo feels just when he kills. Knows himself not to be worthy of the judgement - but feels himself purposed to carry out the sentence. 

It’s a different kind of feeling when Nicolo helps people. Sometimes he’s an extra pair of hands to dig a well, sometimes a guard that watches over a merchant’s goods while they tend to their children. Nicolo loves to help and reaffirms his trust in men when he is helped in return.

He wanders the land, uncaring of the direction he takes. When he eats he thinks of the stew Yusuf makes and the food in his mouth turns to ashes, when he bathes he thinks of the muscles rippling on Yusuf’s back when he swims, and no cold water helps to calm his mind, when he hears laughter he listens for hints of his voice, when he sees artists he studies their hands and knows they aren’t his. 

When months turn into a year, Nicolo wanders a market just outside of Cairo for clothes. Every other tunic except the one on his shoulders now is drenched in blood. He stopped counting his deaths a long time ago, but every new breath he takes without Yusuf by his side is burnt into his mind like a sear. There were five of them. And he woke crying, wishing his lungs rejected the air.

Browsing through the plain colored cloths, Nicolo hears a man reciting poetry on the small square the market circles around. His voice is a distant hum in Nicolo’s ears, but the words of the poem start to stand out in the sea of voices.

_ For what is pain to a heart that has been broken by its keeper’s fault? I feel not alive. I feel dead ‘thou I’m walking this earth, as long as I’m not walking by your side. _

Nicolo approaches the poet with his mouth agape, standing now amidst a group of admirers.

_ Where have you gone, my sense and my wit? This shell of mine feels none but cold and shivers when the moon of my night has rolled off the sky and the sun of my day didn’t rise. _

_ This eternity of mine pains me. Where have you gone, my sense and my wit? _

The words sting him deep within his chest - the tongue now familiar to his ears, but the words intimate to his heart. He never was a man of art, but if his chest didn’t feel like between a battle ram after hearing these verses. The poet bows and everybody claps, snapping Nicolo out of his trans. 

He wonders whether Yusuf’s curly lines in his journal sound like this. If they speak like this man did. If they speak to a crowd or someone in particular. Leaving the crowd, Nicolo wishes nothing more but to remember them and find out.

Today he’s at a farm near Berytus, helping all day to build a fence and dig proper irrigation for the fields. The smile of the farmer’s little son, when Nicolo boosts him up into the saddle and loosens the bridle so his horse walks with the little boy on his back in circles around him, makes his heart swell in a familiar way. Yusuf was always loved by kids.

He feels the heat pooling deep in his chest, knows his face turns red and rubs his cheek to try and wipe it off. Whenever he thinks of Yusuf his heart picks up pace. But the thoughts are too nice to avoid them. Whenever they met a little one on their travels, Yusuf would fish out a piece of candy, seemingly out of nowhere. Passing it from one hand to another in a feeble attempt of a magic trick and the kids always laughed when he dropped the candy into their lap, seemingly on accident. Nicolo laughed too and Yusuf looked at him and played sad, fully at his mercy.

Sad smile crawls across Nicolo’s face, absent-mindedly watching his horse walk in circles. “Mom! Look! I’m riding a horse!” cries out the little boy in excitement. Nicolo follows his gaze and sees the farmer’s wife coming up to them. Catching the hint of worry in her face, he picks up the boy and sets him back on the ground. She assures him it’s fine with a gentle pat on his shoulder, then takes her son’s hand and Nicolo acts as if he doesn’t understand how she lectures him on the dangers of riding a horse. Then her attention turns to him.

“Come eat with us. My husband wants to thank you for your help,” she offers with a smile. Nicolo doesn’t speak much in the last few months, partly because his spoken Arabic is still poor, and partly because he doesn’t know if he could find any other words than those that cry for Yusuf. He bows to her and thus accepts, following them into the house. He ties Luce at the entry gate and humbly enters their house.

The dinner is the only hot food Nicolo ate in a week and he makes sure he shows his appreciation to his hosts, ‘thank you’ being the first word he speaks to them. When he gets up to leave and keep riding on, the farmer catches up to him when he’s untying his horse. 

“Stranger,” he shyly says and Nicolo’s eyes focus on him. The way his voice cracks put him on high alert. “I’ve seen your sword,” he says silently, looking at the hilt poking out of Nicolo’s travel bags, which he swiftly hides under a blanket he carries on his saddle. Head hanging low, Nicolo stares at the ground and grips the bridle tighter, contemplating whether to run or fight were he to attack him. They were good to him, good people, he could never hurt them.

“Don’t be startled,” the farmer carefully says, “Are you a mercenary?” Nicolo’s eyes meet his, the intrigue in his voice is known to him. “Are you for hire?” To kill. For hire to kill, he meant. Nicolo feels his heart shrivel into itself. He likes helping more than killing. But this man before him had a family, his own farm and cattle to tend to, Nicolo didn’t sense him a bad man. Perhaps he was in trouble? Local bandits hurting his business? He bowed his head and closed his eyes, contemplating, perhaps praying, he wasn’t sure.

“Stranger?” 

“Who do I kill?” asks Nicolo and eases his shoulders.

The farmer, called Ali, leads him to a market in the city and Nicolo ducks his head under colorful carpets and blankets and scarves hanging from the poles and ropes above his head. It’s not hard to get lost here and he’s surprised he doesn’t lose sight of Ali, finally arriving at a dark alley where they disappear into small wooden doors. Inside is a damp little room, protected from the outside heat by boarded up windows, three men sit in the middle of the room on the ground and Nicolo feels his hand resting against the hilt of his sword. He stays at the door, leaning against the wall while he scans the room.

“This is my brother Chadi. And my cousin Samer and his brother-in-law Basel. They own farms north of mine,” he starts explaining. Nicolo understands well enough, watching the men’s faces and seeking honesty in their eyes. “There’s someone - a thief. A murderer! He works like a shadow and haunts us like a ghost,” Ali cries and is clearly distressed, “We lead our cattle down a path into the mountains and he’s there. He already killed my other cousin.” 

“It’s true,” chants Ali’s brother and the other two men quickly join him. “Killed in cold blood, he had his throat slit. We buried him at my farm.”

Nicolo stays stoic, watching their eyes burning with fire for revenge. A principle he indulged himself in for years and years before realizing the futility of it. But these men don’t have the lives Nicolo does. They have only grief for their relatives, and fear of death coming upon them. A shadow haunting the mountains, probably a mindless bandit - or a group of them.

“Show me where,” he asks Ali and sees the three men light up with hope.

Ali grants Nicolo an unnecessary spot in his barn to sleep, promising to take Nicolo to the path early in the morning when they lead their cattle to the fields. When the sun barely seeps past the horizon, Nicolo follows him to the mountains. Scared, and rightfully so, he thinks, the farmer stays behind right outside the town while Nicolo walks on, dorning a hooded brown cloak, his sword tucked underneath. His walk is sluggish and he pats the sheep and lets his fingers get stuck in the curls of their wool. They bleat as he urges them down the dirt path. The small road gets soon bogged down by tall trees and bushes surrounding it and Nicolo thinks; what a perfect spot for an ambush. 

He hears a twig snap in the bushes on his left and his motion stills, then eases again as he finishes the slow step he was taking while slowly grabbing the sheath of his sword. The dark figure leaps at him a second later and Nicolo’s body spins to him while ripping out his sword. His clear blade sparks in contact with the scimitar that strikes down at him. It’s as if time has slowed down. Nicolo swears he feels the muscles in his irises shrink, his eyes and mind rejecting the image before him.

Mid swing, his sword halted by Nicolo’s, Yusuf stands before him. Mouth agape and eyes scared, sweat beading at his face and arms rippling with struggle against Nicolo’s sword.


	4. Part Two (Yusuf)

Sleep never comes easy to him, but last night the ghost of sleep saw an opportunity in Yusuf’s puffy red eyes and crawled in without second thoughts. He wakes to an empty room, brightly lit by the late midday sun. Throwing on his clothes with haste, Yusuf runs outside and sees the door of Nicolo’s room wide open, the keeper draining the pub inside.

“Have you seen my friend?” he asks, trying to ignore how insufficient the title sounds, peeking inside.

The woman waves him away, splashing water on him. “He left early in the morning. You took your time waking up! I still got to clean up your room.”

“He left?” he asks and his voice breaks and his feet seem to root into the floorboards. The keeper doesn’t waste more time with him and shuts the door in his face.

This can’t be possible. Why would he? Weren’t they companions? Didn’t they fight a hundred battles side by side? 

Walls around him start to spin and his heart drops in his ribcage, clanging around his ribs like a pair of dice. This cannot be possible, he thinks. He walks numbly back to his room and packs his things. Like in a trans, he picks up his journal, observing the smudged lines of chaotic pained poems. His fingers trace the paths of dried tears and cause fresh ones to fill his eyes.

“Oh, Nicolo,” he whispers, “What have I done? I am so sorry.”

The rumbling of his footsteps shakes through the whole tavern as Yusuf runs outside, finding his horse in the stable - alone. 

“Where is he? Where is he Layl?” he dresses her up and puts on the saddle, leading her outside in a hazed panic. He rides to the north gate, asking the city guards, merchants and locals whether they saw Nicolo. When nobody gives him the answer he wants, he searches at the south, east and west gate as well. With a weak head and empty stomach, he wanders the great market in the main square, grabbing shoulders and asking questions and crying. Their anonymity is a priority long forgotten when he lost _him_. Suddenly he doesn’t care if he is to walk back to his general in Jerusalem, give him a knife and ask him to kill him again and again, just to prove to him his gift of life, to give it in return for Nicolo. For the mere information where he went.

The sun is already setting when exhausted Yusuf stumbles into a lone alley and slides down the wall into a patch of mud and God knows what else. His head finds little comfort in the pads of his palms, throbbing with pain and pressure from crying.

I betrayed you, Nicolo. I offended you. I swore that I would always protect you. I swore to never hurt you again. What have I done? Why have I doubted you? Why have I doubted myself? 

He pulls out his journal and a piece of pencil, finding the cried through page. The paper is crisp where his tears had landed, crinkling under the tip as Yusuf writes. 

_Where have you gone, my sense and my wit? This shell of mine feels none but cold and shivers when the moon of my night has rolled off the sky and the sun of my day didn’t rise._

_This eternity of mine pains me. Where have you gone, my sense and my wit?_

_My heart feels a boulder, no more than a rock. There is no sound in this world, if not your voice._

_And there is no beauty, if not seen through your eyes._

_I will shiver in cold and be lost in darkness, as long as I’m not walking by your side._

No more light is granted to him, the alley falls into dark night. He hides the pencil and cries, clutching onto the leather-bound thing like it will lead him to _him_. Why didn’t he tell Nicolo? Why didn’t he sing to his ear when they lied side by side, he wonders hopelessly. 

Why did he run away? Why didn’t he wake Yusuf up? The look Nicolo gave him last night, in that damned hallway, was it of pity? Contempt? But why? Did Nicolo feel the same as Yusuf? Then why did he leave? You sent a whore to his room, you idiot. He must think lowly of you.

Drown in self-pity and regret, Yusuf doesn’t notice the group of four thieves crowding him from both sides of the alley. They manage to pull him up to his feet and slam him against the wall before Yusuf snaps out of his misery and grips his attacker’s robes. He headbutts him and reaches for his sword on his back. The expected feeling of firm, slick hilt in his palm betrays him and he grasps onto nothing, the shine of his scimitar’s blade grinning at him from the hands of the thug in front of him. He’s run through like a pig at slaughter. They leave his body in the mud and take everything.

Yusuf wakes up only a minute later but he knows it’s too late. They are gone, long vanished in the crowd on the main street. But what is worse, Nicolo is not there. Still. He doesn’t know waking up without Nicolo by his side. At first, he’d be the one to put him right back to sleep. But these last two years, Nicolo kept him in a hug or rested his head on his lap, stroking his hair until he came back to. Protecting him. Loving him. God seems to want Yusuf to suffer. And he feels deserving.

He stumbles back to Layl, tied to a post at the south gate. When he rides into the night, he feels exhausted like never before. He hunches over and feels the pain from his own sword still stinging his skin. They took his journal, he curses under his breath, the pictures he drew of Nicolo flying before his eyes. He doesn’t need it, he will never forget his face. He will see it again.

The skill with which Nicolo disappears is admirable, and even if it makes looking for him harder, Yusuf melts at the greatness of him. It feels as if apart, his heart only radiates with love for Nicolo so much more. Every night he lies next to his fire, staring at the stars in the sky, knowing that none of their light would warm him as much as Nicolo’s touch or smile. He goes to sleep chanting silent requests that they watch over Nicolo, wherever he is. And they come and tell him how he is the next day. 

Three months pass when he arrives at a small village, hearing rumors of a lone mercenary helping the locals. He’s smarter now, not going around in panic screaming Nicolo’s name anymore - instead, he browses the tiny market and keeps his ears and eyes open. Shining a plump fig with his thumb, Yusuf side eyes a group of men sitting at stairs before their homes.

“Have you heard about Falal?”

“Yeah, poor girl, his wife.”

“I heard they left him in a ditch. Took everything.”

Yusuf unconsciously squeezes the fig in his hand until it ruptures, wiping the juice on his pants and apologizing to the vendor quickly, passing him a coin to buy the figs.

“Wish that soldier never left. We could use his straight sword right about now.”

“It wouldn’t help. These money hungry bastards. When you weed them out, another scum takes their place.”

Having heard enough, Yusuf thanks the vendor and strides towards the small tavern he saw on the corner. He takes a bite of the fruit, hiding the stupid smile on his face. Nicolo’s longsword is definitely not a local rounded blade, the way that man described it - it must be Nicolo. He was here.

Throwing his hands on the bar, he demands the most expensive wine this building houses, singing of a great merchant deal he just closed. Golden coins drop out of his pouch just as fast as if he’d turn it upside down and shake, buying wine and ale to all the patrons. They play cards and dice and egg shells, all in good fun. One of the men congratulates Yusuf and pats his shoulder, drinking the ale Yusuf just bought him. He smiles, recognizing the eyes looking at him from behind the cup, the sheathed blade at the man’s hips. When the moon prepares to greet the sun, Yusuf excuses himself from a game with his newfound friends and retreats to the room he rented. He lies down and doesn’t have to wait long for the footsteps outside his door, the hushed voices and the turn of a key in his lock. 

He’s at his feet behind the door when it opens and four men walk inside, swords drawn, thirsty for blood and gold. Yusuf thanks the thug, taking back his scimitar after slitting the man's throat. He thought he would never see his trusty weapon again. Luck was starting to warm up to him.

Following Nicolo’s trail, Yusuf bumps from village to village, following rivers and lakes, because Nicolo likes those more than the mountains. Just as he likes to bathe in the early morning or burning afternoon, and lying in the grass in the shade of the trees overlooking the water. Yusuf’s desire to be with Nicolo once more doesn’t falter one bit. He draws his face into sand and on pages of books and looks for the fire of his eyes in every crowd he encounters. No matter how long, he will find him. He’s got time, after all.

Layl carries him all the way to the outskirts of Berytus. While she’s walking lazily down a narrow mountain path, Yusuf writes, holding a journal against her nape. Words turn into verses and verses into poems. All titles the same, all mere lines in a long love letter to Nicolo. Yusuf stills and tugs on the bridle to stop Layl when he hears voices. Wary of estranged voices on lonely roads, Yusuf jumps off and leads his horse off the path, hiding in the bushes.

He spots five men, three of them carrying dead bodies over their shoulders and the last two travel bags covered in blood. In their heels, a flock of sheep wobbles along with them. The men are armed, laughing together about the merchants they just killed.

“Let’s go dig graves tomorrow. We’ll hide the bodies in the cave. The loot too, if my wife finds out she’ll want a share,” mumbles one of them and they all share a belly laugh.

“You got it.”

“Hurry up, I should be coming back to the farm. I gotta check the new help, hope he didn’t fuck up the fence.”

Anger boils deep within Yusuf, sentencing the men off as nothing more than mere bandits. Evil that should be rid of this world. He watches them carry the loot and bodies into a crease in the mountain, just off the path, and uses the time to change positions. When they come back out, Yusuf lowers himself into the bushes, his scimitar in hand, lying in the dust on the ground. As they walk past amidst the flock of sheep, his hand thrusts forward, slicing into the soft flash of a foot, dropping a man to the ground. The rest of them scream, rising swords while their startled sheep run off, bleating loudly.

“Hey! Fuck!” shouts one of them.

Oblivious as to where their attacker is, the four men form a scared circle while the fifth lies on the ground in pain, holding his foot and stumbling to get up. Yusuf attacks from the side, clashing his blade across the man’s and casting it away in one fluid motion. The thug stumbles backwards and without a second thought, turns around and starts running away. Yusuf wants to follow and finish the job but the other three men charge at him. He ducks, kicking in a knee of one and stopping another blade with his scimitar laid across his back. Like an arrow, his hand shoots up and grabs the wrist of the third attacker and twists it around his back, using his body as a shield, cracking a bone and causing him to drop his dagger. Ready to stab him clean through, that’s when Yusuf feels a jolt of pain in his ankle and growls, shoving off his attacker. He sees the man with sliced foot crawling at his feet, thrusting a dagger into his ankle. Grabbing Yusuf’s knee and side, he tackles him to the ground. As Yusuf lands in the dust he sees the rest of the killers running off. Hells, he curses, throwing the man around so he’s on top of him, knee on his neck. The man reaches down and twists the dagger in Yusuf’s ankle, breaking bone, causing him to scream. Yusuf knocks his arm down with an elbow and slides his scimitar over his throat. His dying breaths bubble the blood leaking out of him and Yusuf sighs.

He cleans his sword on the man’s clothes, then takes out the dagger from his foot with a grunt, hopping on one foot for a second before settling back on the ground, already healed. They’ll be back. Their loot is still here, he thinks as he grabs the body and drags it towards the cave. Before night comes, Yusuf digs out four graves and prays for the safe transition to the afterlife at three of them.

Sleepless nights are the easy ones because he’s not haunted by the recurring dreams, so it’s easy for him to stay vigilant. Camped a few steps off the path under a rooted out tree, he watches the road like a hawk. The silent huffs of Layl the only source of warmth during the night. He wishes he could see the stars through the tall crowns of the trees, longing to ask them about Nicolo one more time. Maybe this time they would answer. Tell him that he’s close.

In the cold air of the morning, Yusuf stalks a figure walking sheep. With every step it takes closer to the cave, Yusuf grips his scimitar a little tighter, assured that this time he won’t let him get away to kill another. But when he leaps and strikes, his sword meets a longsword. And Yusuf shakes when he sees those bright blue eyes he gazed into in his dreams and begged for the stars every night, staring back at him from under the hood. Scared and confused. 

“Nicolo,” he gasps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With swords drawn and literally inches away from each other, they kind of have to talk it out now, right?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts about the story!


	5. Part Three (Nicolo)

What do you say to someone you love if you have a sword trained at their neck, stopped only by their own blade pushing against you with the same vigor to harm? He doesn’t find any fitting words, in Arabic or Italian, so his lips stay shut but the anger in them washes away like footsteps pressed into soft shore sand, taken away by the tide. Any determination to kill is gone. There is no bandit before him, there is only Yusuf, and Nicolo loves and despises the inner calmness his presence brings him. The warmth within his chest shines out through his skin and eyes without his control. 

“Yusuf,” he answers his call and both of their arms slack in unison, bringing their swords apart. “What are you doing here?”

The face before him stays still, dorning an awe with eyes wide open and pupils blown and shoulders in unrest with heavy breaths that bring his chest up in heaves. Then he smiles, a stupid big smile that Nicolo remembers from their bonfires. Caught off guard, he doesn’t know how to react but to smile back - forgetting to fight any resolve he had to stay away from the man before him.

Yusuf launches forward and embraces Nicolo with passion he once used to fight him. Feeling his body on his, warm and solid and alive, and  _ here,  _ Nicolo’s heart flutters. He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Yusuf’s back, grabbing onto his robe and scarf and squeezing tight. His mind wanders places he avoided for so long, only allowing himself to visit them when he was alone and far away from Yusuf. His fingers scrape the cloth and his nails dig deep, seeking out the feel of his skin underneath. The muscles on Yusuf’s back push Nicolo’s blood through his veins and the scratch of his beard on his cheek brings him comfort greater than he’s ever known.

His mind thinks of  _ him _ and the  _ feel _ of him and Nicolo knows the world outside of their hug is senseless and worthless in comparison.

But just when their hearts’ beats sync and they both start to cry, Nicolo shamefully remembers his reason for coming here. Unwillingly, he untangles himself from Yusuf, lingering with his hand on Yusuf’s neck, looking into his eyes with a shameless, outspoken smile he cannot bother to hide before letting go, which feels harder than any battle he’s ever fought.

No words come to him, he only watches and hopes to soak in as much of Yusuf as he can before- before- … Before they part again, he reminds himself. The smile on his lips turns sour and his breath hitches as he looks away.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf is the one to break the silence, stepping into his field of view, not willing to lose his eye contact. “Nicolo, my dearest,” he mumbles and strokes his arm and Nicolo snaps to him in shock.

His brows scowl and he thinks himself still unskilled of the language to hear what he heard.

“What are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Yusuf rants with a smile. There is no sign of anger in his voice, only happiness that warms Nicolo’s heart. He swallows the nothing in his throat before answering.

“I was to kill a bandit. A group of farmers were attacked on this path. One of them was killed in cold blood. Throat slit.”

Yusuf’s smile fades away like the early morning fog surrounding them. His back straightens and his chin lifts up.

“Then I suppose I am the bandit you’re looking for.”

“No,” Nicolo dismisses his words instantly and searches for an answer in his eyes instead, confused, “Why would you say that?”

“I killed a man on this path. But he was no farmer - a thief and a murderer. There were five of them here. They brought dead bodies and hid their belongings in a cave nearby. I can show you the graves I dug.”

There were no doubts in Nicolo’s mind that Yusuf was honest when he offered him a hand to stand up from the battlefield so long ago, when they finally stopped mindlessly killing each other. Just as sure of his kindness as he was of his hatred when he felt his sword slicing his guts. They never lied to each other. Never had the need. Every word - be it hate or praise - was honest to their bones.

“Then I was tricked,” Nicolo shamefully admits, following Yusuf into the cave and observing the satchels full of goods and pouches with gold. “The farmer who led me here, he has a family. I helped them,” he speaks with a sad tone.

“Do you want to leave?” Yusuf lands a thoughtful palm on Nicolo’s shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the serenity it brings to his companion. He’s offering him a way to let it go, disappear and let the world keep on going without their interference - let the men live their lives. Sinful lives. Nicolo sees the satchels drenched in blood of innocents and doesn’t believe himself weak enough to let this go.

“No. We must make this right,” he says and looks into Yusuf’s eyes. He flashes him a lopsided little smile when Yusuf grants him one as an answer.

They set up a simple plan that goes awry fast. Nicolo was meant to come back to the farmer’s house and lead him away from his family, leaving behind money for the wife and son. Then they would search for his other companions in the house near the market. But when Nicolo leads the sheep back to their enclosure, he can sense that nothing is right. This morning, no sun has come up and the sky is dressed in white, vast clouds. Cold air blows strands of Nicolo’s hair into his face and his hand rests on the hilt of his sword when he approaches the house. He looks towards the barn where he left Luce and then knocks, not surprised when he hears no answer. Carefully, he opens the door and searches the rooms, there’s nobody there, breakfast still set up on the table. Nicolo leaves and goes for the barn, his stomach uneasy with a gut feeling.

When he opens the door and sees the silhouette of something lying on the dirt floor, he knows. Breathlessly, he walks towards Luce’s body, lying motionlessly on the ground in a pool of blood that spilled from his neck. Nicolo’s hands shake when he touches his coat, cold and stiff with death, painting his palms red with almost dried blood. His eyes close, unable to face the unfazed darkness in the black lifeless orbs.

“Thank you, friend. I’m sorry,” he whispers to his ear one last time and kisses between his eyes, then gets up and leaves.

Him and Yusuf have had many horses in their lives, in their new immortal lives. Animals and people died and it was unwise to get attached, they realized that fast. Still, Nicolo could never help himself. His heart cries with hurt as he leaves the premises of the farm.

Yusuf is waiting for him in town. He asks no questions about the anger in his companion’s face, offering the needed understanding as he agrees to the change of plans - they find them here in town and finish it.

Nicolo leads Yusuf down the square to the market, retracing the steps Ali had taken before. When they find the alley, they nod at each other in silent confirmation and as Yusuf gets ready to kick down the door, a roaring voice stops them.

“Seize them!” yells a town’s guard. Four men run at Nicolo and Yusuf, grabbing hold of them and breaking them apart. They don’t struggle, holding each other’s gaze for comfort, none of them knowing answers to the questions behind their eyes. The market full of people is too close for them to break out a fight and get away.

“It’s them! It’s them!” Ali comes out from behind the guards, accompanied by the other three men, Ali looking distressed and crying. “That’s the man who killed my cousin! I bet they killed more people! They have a hideout in the mountains. In a cave.”

Nicolo only sighs, bowing his head in defeat, in awe at how wrong he was about the man.

“Nicolo, is it him? Is this him?” Yusuf asks calmly while staring daggers at Ali, uncurling the man from the inside just by his gaze.

“Yes.”

“You motherfucker,” Yusuf grits through his teeth and Ali winces.

“Look! They still got blood on their hands!” Ali shouts and points at Nicolo’s hands. He doesn’t look down at them, only feeling the blood drying on his skin, cracking and peeling off as he moves his hand into a fist.

“Get them up and out of my sight!” orders the captain of the guard, “We’ve been looking for this group for a long time. The months you’ve been a plague to our lands are up.”

Yusuf doesn’t stop watching the true culprits as he orderly stands up and lets himself be pushed around and out of the alley, following Nicolo. 

When they are thrown into the dark, damp cellar of this town’s jail, Yusuf quickly gets up on his knees, hands bound, helping Nicolo sit up. They sit side by side, leaning against the cold wall with chains hanging off their wrists. The room stays silent when their breathing slows down, finding comfort in the presence of one another. Somehow, this doesn’t feel final, not like anything does for Nicolo anymore. But he senses no danger, no cringe at the assured pain that’s coming for them when he has Yusuf next to him.

He looks his way and sees a big bright smile lighting up Yusuf’s face. He never cared for pain when he could smile. Doesn’t care for this situation either. Nicolo smiles weakly back.

“What a grateful man, Ali, huh? You built a fence for him,” Yusuf ponders out loud and the humor is not lost to Nicolo. He offers a scoff in return.

“I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“But you should. Your Arabic is much better,” Yusuf says and they both share a chuckle.

“I missed you, Nicolo,” he says when their laugh dies out and the smiles ease up. Nicolo recognizes the tone in his voice, set deeper than the words he uses for everybody else, speaking to him as if from his heart itself. And he looks at him like a doe at its hunter before he lets his arrow loose. Yusuf’s face offers warmth and comfort he longed for and missed this whole time. Yet his mind warns him, pains him with bolts stabbing deep into his heart - he doesn’t love you like you love him. And Nicolo looks on his boots instead, grabbing a fistful of dust in his hands.

He expects questions to come - questions he doesn’t want to answer. Why did he leave when all he wanted this whole time was to be with Yusuf? But he has questions too.

“Why did you search for me?” he asks shyly.

“Why? Why does the moon search for its sun after a long night?” Yusuf gets on his knees and shuffles to sit in front of Nicolo, his hands hanging low in his lap but his voice eager to prove himself - he smiles while he speaks, captivating Nicolo’s eyes. 

“Why do strands of weed reach for morning dew? Why do animals come to lakes when their throats turn dry?” He holds Nicolo’s hand, smearing the dust between their palms without a care. “Because it's their body and soul telling them. It’s what they need. And as the stars rotate in the sky, watching us like ghosts above the clouds during the day and guarding us during the night, I need you, Nicolo. I am incomplete without you.”

Nicolo stares at him like he’s the only thing he can see and feels the heat pooling in his cheeks. He never dreamed that his voice would sound this beautiful. That Yusuf’s scribbled curly lines, smudged in his journal, then foreign to Nicolo, could make his heart swell like this. Every beat of it felt like it would jump out into Yusuf’s palm. And Nicolo would let him keep it. His breath hitches and tears crawl their way into his eyes. Yusuf panics at the sight of them.

“Why do you do this to me?” Nicolo asks and he sounds betrayed. Never angry, only betrayed. 

“What? Nicolo,” Yusuf replies hastily, confused. His hand cups Nicolo’s with care but he pulls them away. It’s a weak protest but it breaks Yusuf’s heart at the moment.

“Please. Stop,” Nicolo sobs, looking away because he cannot bear the nonsensical pain in Yusuf’s eyes.

“Nicolo?” Yusuf Calls for him again and it is so soft that he almost can’t hear him. There’s no oxygen in Yusuf’s lungs, no blood flowing through his veins. Facing the possibility that his love would not be returned turns him into a lifeless statue.

“Why do you do this?” Nicolo cries, tears dropping over the ledge of his lashes, watering his cheeks and disappearing in his beard. “Why do you care for me so tenderly? My heart cannot take this.” He gestures to his heart, his hands speaking words he can’t find, gesturing towards the man in front of him. “I cannot take being without your care. I want more. I need more. I can’t take this, Yusuf. I need you. I need you like a man needs a woman. I am jealous of the girl that left your room that night. Every night I wish I could be to you what she was.”

He fumbles over his words, voice shaken by tears and hands by his heart beating fast. He has no choice but to tell him everything. Even if he’s sure it means Yusuf will leave forever. He cannot bear to feel his love anymore.

But Yusuf’s eyes dart from one of Nicolo’s to the other, his mouth agape and face flushed with heat. His chest heaves as it clashes against Nicolo’s when he kisses him.

Their mouths meet and it’s lips and teeth and Yusuf pleads for his love with gentleness until Nicolo sinks into it and returns the kiss, soft lips meeting soft lips. Yusuf’s chained hands come up to cup Nicolo’s face with tenderness he yearns for, stroking circles into his cheek with his thumb as their kiss turns deeper. He licks little prayers down the plump of his upper lip and Nicolo silently moans with excitement, his hands finding Yusuf’s trousers and holding onto the seam on his thighs. 

“I love you, Nicolo. Like a man loves a woman. I’m a man loving a man. And it’s you,” he whispers, kissing him without giving him a chance to answer. He wouldn’t find the words to, anyway. Nicolo’s chest feels too small for the love he’s receiving, his heart soon to burst out of his chest. The tear that slides onto Yusuf’s fingers on his cheek carries nothing but happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Look, this wasn't meant to be this long at all. But I feel for them, you know. I need more. I fixed and added some tags as well, so hopefully everything is in order.
> 
> I hope you feel the feels as much as I did when I wrote this. They finally reached that point of little happiness in this vast sea of doom. And I'm down for it, ya know.
> 
> There will be another - and finally last, I swear - part, which will conclude this story and will be told from Yusuf's perspective. I won't be tracing over this part too much because I don't want you to read the same thing twice, as they are mostly together through this chapter. But we will have a glance into Yusuf's side of this feels trip and we'll pick up where this part ended - so hold onto your horses! It's coming.


	6. Part Three (Yusuf)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter - quite a graphic public execution by stoning.
> 
> It had to be done but I hate myself for it.

When their lips finally part, it feels like coming home. But it isn’t the old wooden house back in Maghreb, where he remembers he heard the voices of his brothers and parents last, it isn’t even the mosque in Jerusalem where he prayed side by side with his people before marching to defend their walls. No, this is just _him_. This is Nicolo. With eyes the color of his homeland’s sea and a broad smile that stirs up tingles up Yusuf’s spine.

No shame is seen on his face as he coos, cradling Nicolo’s face in his hands like the most precious thing. His fingers absentmindedly brush away long locks of his hair out of those bright blue eyes. A shaky smile with a happy sob speaks back to him and they kiss once more. _Oh how I missed you. My sweet Nicolo. Your smile speaks to me like a thousand scholars finally showing me the way, the correct path to walk this earth. I was so lost without you. I was blind and I was deaf._ His lips press silent adorations into Nicolo’s.

“That night in the inn,” Nicolo mumbles into Yusuf’s sleeve, leaning on him as they’re both slumped against the cold wall in their cell, “You didn’t sleep with the woman?”

“You think I did?” Yusuf asks with a beaming smile. 

It feels so foreign, so stupid a night to him now. If he had the power to go back he knows he would’ve kicked himself as hard as Layl to wake up and see that Nicolo was right there - aching to be together just as much as Yusuf.

“I thought you did. I felt so alone,” Nicolo says so silently he barely whispers, but none of his words escape Yusuf’s ears. 

He takes Nicolo’s chin with his index finger and faces him, kneeling in front of his body. Even in the dark of their confinement, Nicolo sees the unshed tears that reflect the sapre light in his eyes, the warmth that radiates from the gentle upturn of his lips.

“Never before have I felt so foolish, Nicolo. Let me learn from my mistakes. Let me back into your life, let me fight by your side once more. I will never leave you. I will banish every feeling of loneliness out of your bones with all the love and adoration that you deserve. I will gladly give every ounce of my life to see you happy and content,” Yusuf recites.

It feels like he’s reading out loud the most beautiful poem and Nicolo wonders where he is hiding the script he must surely be reading from. His face heats up as Yusuf takes his hand and kisses his knuckles until they’re warm with affection.

“When you left me, my love, I was lost. I was not myself, I was not a man. A mere shell of a human looking for its purpose that it stupidly lost. Nicolo, without you by my side, every breath I take anew is a breath of pain. This immortal life of mine is nothing but a prison if it’s not spent with you. Please, stay with me.”

“I am so sorry,” Nicolo pushes out and breaks and starts crying, “I’m sorry for leaving you, Yusuf. All I wanted was to come back to you.”

“You did, love,” Yusuf whispers and hugs him tight. 

They stay like that for minutes that finally feel like a time not wasted. Yusuf cards his fingers through Nicolo’s hair and he thumbs circles into Yusuf’s back in return. Once they realize the other one is not going to leave anytime soon, they settle back on the ground and sit side by side, shoulders touching. Soon, time passes by and they’re both sure night has already come. Their faith stays uncertain to them, all they can do is wait for the guards to come back. Confident with his heart on his sleeve, Yusuf decides to pass time by asking questions.

“So, I take it you didn’t take the woman either?” He asks with a hint of mischief and Nicolo actually laughs.

“I did not, if it wasn’t obvious.”

“Have you ever had someone?” he prays again, praying to his God that Nicolo forgives him for his daring questions. He can’t help himself, insatiable for every piece of information he was too shy to ask before. Nicolo turns a darker shade of pink but doesn’t take offense just yet. Instead, he watches his hands, seemingly thinking of an answer. “I heard that your people,” Yusuf elaborates on his question and draws a cross on his chest with his finger, “Can’t have love. It seems cruel.”

“That’s a rumor, then,” Nicolo finally answers and Yusuf feels a heavy weight dropping from his shoulders. And then comes the small sprout of beaming affection growing deep in his chest, surrounded by his ribs like in a cage, as Nicolo smiles and blushes a shade harder, continuing his answer: “There’s no celibacy. Many men take women as wives. Or even outside marriage. It’s natural to love. To want.”

Nicolo ends his answer with a hint of uncertainty and Yusuf recognizes that he speaks from his heart and experience, not learnt knowledge.

“Me, I… I was with a girl once. Before I left for Jerusalem. It left me more confused than happy,” he adds with a shy smile.

When Nicolo asks Yusuf the same question - if he has ever been with someone, he already knows the answer. Spent countless nights dreaming of what Yusuf’s lovers must have been like. He felt shameful knowing how many times it helped him to find pleasure on those nights he couldn’t sleep. How he wished for Yusuf’s experienced hands to find his under the thin linen blanket and guide him to the top of his mind where, spent, Nicolo would find the little heaven that Yusuf was for him. Those moments of bliss he wished could stand in for the absence of Yusuf. But they never could. 

“I definitely haven’t been practicing celibacy,” Yusuf answers with a grin and Nicolo smiles, the humour not lost on him. “But I am yet to,” he leans back against the wall and lets his gaze get locked in with Nicolo’s, watching him through his eyelashes, “be with someone like you.”

“A man?” Nicolo asks and his answer is Yusuf leaning back into him, smiling a happy smile into his eyes. He shakes his head.

“Just you, Nicolo. My heart is yours. I never loved someone like I do you. The Gods have given me the greatest gift of all - a soul that fits together with yours.”

It is way too easy for Nicolo to get lost in his words, drinking every syllable like a prayer he wants to practice every waking hour. He kisses Yusuf with kindness and love and Yusuf melts into it without hesitation.

“How are we gonna get out of here?” asks Nicolo once they part.

“I started to quite like the place. I feel like it’s got a positive effect on us,” Yusuf ponders out loud, scanning the cold damp walls like they were the most colorful stand in a market.

It is decided that none of the guards are to come to harm - they are only doing their duty, after all. But neither kind and forgiving Nicolo, nor passionate and empathetic Joe plan to let the lying farmers get away with their crimes. When a man reaches their cell - his robes titling him an executioner - and he takes their shackles and tugs them outside into the light, they know what their fate will be. Yusuf sighs when the guards yell it out anyway, hanging his head low and watching Nicolo’s wide eyes as they lead them down the alley among a crowd of onlookers.

“Watch! The murders march their last march! Grab a stone and throw it with as little mercy as they had with our dead brothers!”

The city guards arrange the crowd to spill into the corners of the square, leaving an empty circle in the middle that will soon become their grave. Nicolo locks eyes with Yusuf and both of them clench their jaws, eyes dilated with fear. Not of death but of pain.

They decided to die today. Valuing the innocent yet foolish lives of the onlookers higher than their own, assessing the brawl they could break out as too high a risk for the people. They would find the murderers when they awake tonight. _But why,_ asks Yusuf silently, _why must Nicolo suffer this injustice, this nonsense. Why must we die for the sins of these men? Life is cruel as much as it is beautiful. My dear Nicolo, forgive me. Why can’t I protect you? Why don’t I have a weapon? To hell with all these freaks._ “Nicolo!”

He screams for him when a small rock hits Nicolo in the face. Yusuf growls and tugs the executioner with him as he launches at the crowd, positioning his body in front of Nicolo, all plans to go willingly forgotten. His body doesn’t budge as the guard yells at him and takes out his sword to keep him walking, nor does he move when the crowd ejects more stones onto them, hitting Yusuf in his head, brow bone, arms and chest. When he gets one in the ear, buzzing fills his head and the hateful voices are no more. Long, angry face of the executioner, marching them on, screams at him without much effect. But then he feels a warm presence on his arm and he snaps out of his trans. Nicolo is looking at him with warm eyes. They both stand up tall, faces bloodied and battered. Yusuf wishes every stone didn’t hurt twice, but it does. Nicolo does his best to shield every hit from Yusuf, even when they come from every direction.

When their legs give out and their bodies hit the ground, it’s over. The crowd closes the empty space quickly and none of the guards care enough to interfere. 

Through eyelashes caked with blood and concussion that shakes his vision, Yusuf sees the farmer who framed them throwing a stone himself. Instead of his blood boiling with vengeance, he takes Nicolo’s hand and squeezes tight, crying when he feels no warmth. The pain stops when his skull cracks.

He wakes up in the middle of the night. The first ragged breath he takes in is tainted with the horrid smell of human waste and death. Coughing, he jerks up to kneel on the ground, covering his nose to not take any more in. His eyes scan the ditch his body was thrown in, where is Nicolo? Never before has Yusuf been this happy to be startled, when Nicolo pats his shoulder and embraces him from behind. They both cry when they hug, Yusuf making sure that all blood on Nicolo’s face is dried and Nicolo combing his hands through Yusuf’s curls, making sure there’s no wound that would be hurting.

They sneak away under the shroud of night. Their feet lead them to the nearby river, finding a serene shore near one of the small forests around the farmhouses. The trees will hide them nicely from any late night travelers. They strip naked and submerge in the water to bathe. Nicolo shakes from the cold but it’s preferable to the stickiness of body fluids and death breathing around him. They scrub clean off blood and dirt and Yusuf just stands there, waist deep in the cold dark water that looks like the most beautiful mirror, staring at the man before him.

The moonlight shines off every ripple on the surface onto Nicolo’s skin, making his complexion shine like the thousands of stars looking down at them now. His arms and chest and stomach toned with the night’s shadows make Yusuf’s gut writhe with want. Bloodied and dirty, he reminded him of the first night they met on the battlefield, killed by one another. Back then it was the want to kill, now Yusuf is engulfed in the want to love and be loved in return. How is this man so beautiful? The shadows under his eyes make the bright blue of them stand out even more and Yusuf stands there, naked and guilty of getting washed away in the stream of them, more than happy to admit he’s walked into this wild river on purpose.

The few steps he takes towards Nicolo are heavy in the water, stirring the weight of it around their legs. Nicolo notices him coming and wishes he knew as many pretty words as Yusuf to describe how much like an angel he looked to him.

With a soft gentle kiss, they bump their foreheads together and both of them try to ignore their dry throats and hot breaths.

"When this is over, lie with me Nicolo," Yusuf begs him with little kisses to his jaw.

"Lie with me, Yusuf Al-Kaysani. I love you," Nicolo agrees, caressing his shoulders and cheeks.

Against their very tainted and clouded judgement, they let go of each other. Yusuf swears revenge for their fate as they disappear into the forest and he calls Layl, producing a set of clothes for them both from his bag on her saddle. Finally dressed and armed with a dagger each, they come for their real executioners.

Ali and his partners in crime are all drunk senseless, they find them in their cave hideout covered in wine stains and empty bottles, vomiting while lying on their loot. Each of them gets a blade to the throat and Nicolo doesn’t enjoy watching their lives trickle down the stones.

“No justice has been made today,” Nicolo thinks out loud, empty when watching the dead bodies. Nobody will know what they really did, they will have a theory maybe, when they find their bodies in a few days. But nobody will know what these men did.

“No, but no more violence will happen. At least not by them,” Yusuf cleans his dagger on Ali’s clothes and nudges Nicolo to leave.

“We did it right, Yusuf,” he takes Yusuf’s hands when they get back to his horse, recognizing the anger he’s trying to hide, “We died for the right thing. We stopped them. And protected the people.”

“I just wish you didn’t have to suffer for it.”

They share a hurt look that hides the immense sadness each of them got so used to. The realization that this life holds only pain every waking day. That people around them will die and kill others to no end, and all they can do is suffer through it - and do their best to help, Yusuf remembers, almost drifting off on his wave of melancholy. That’s what Nicolo taught him. Using their curse and blessing to help people. 

Nicolo hops up onto Layl behind Yusuf and he clicks his tongue to give an order to ride. Away from Berytus. 

Three Months Later

A hailstorm worse than any other in a mortal’s lifetime storms outside the windows of a little inn when two men walk inside, water running down their soaked coats in branches. The innkeeper yells at them for the puddles they leave behind as they reach the bar.

“What do ya want, frogs?”

“A room, please,” Yusuf tugs down his hood and gives her the same charming smile.

It takes a second for the crude woman to recognize his eyes, then she visibly relaxes and gives him a sly grin. When her eyes jump to the other figure and Nicolo takes off his hood as well, she puts on her merchant face.

“Two of my best rooms with the full room service?”

“We can fit into one, thanks,” Nicolo answers her question and Yusuf throws her a small pouch that crinkles with golden coins.

Without another word, they leave to stable their horse. When they enter their room, it’s the same as before, bath with hot water and a hay-filled mattress with a few linen sheets and a thin blanket. And it’s perfect.

They bathe together, sharing jokes and reminiscing about their travels. Yusuf feels content like never before when he washes Nicolo’s face and he peeks at him after being splashed with water, one eye still closed and spitting out suds. The belly laugh it gets out of Yusuf makes Nicolo’s heart warm and tender in return.

They dry off and then they’re in bed. Yusuf whispers oaths of everlasting love into Nicolo’s skin and Nicolo worships every part of him with deserving devotion. Sweat beading at the friction of their skin, limbs tangled and fingertips digging dimples into their skin, they love each other through the night, and only when the sky crawls into their sleepy eyes at dawn, does Yusuf nests himself behind Nicolo and they both doze off into a restful sleep. But not before Yusuf asks: “Did you imagine it like this?”

“Even better,” Nicolo whispers and kisses the last word into Yusuf’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part of this story. Thank you very much for sticking around and being patient with my uneven writing schedule. Let me know your thoughts, please. I got really invested in this and would love to know your opinions!


End file.
